


Wounded Pride

by machka



Category: Bandom: The Anthemic, Real Person Fiction, Tulsa Gangstas
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-15
Updated: 2010-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 04:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/machka/pseuds/machka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know they actually make wallets with the holes pre-punched, right?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wounded Pride

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [hc_bingo](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/profile/) challenge, using the prompt "Lacerations/Knife Wounds."
> 
> Disclaimer: Um, some of this story actually is true. Last summer, during the break between the May and June legs of the "Declaration" tour, Neal actually did try to add a hole to his wallet with a serrated knife, and ended up cutting his finger to the bone...and having it splinted instead of stitched up. The rest of it? Pretty sure it's false - unintentional, purely coincidental, yadda yadda yadda.

"Ow! Be careful, you fucker!"

Andy snorted aloud, kicking Neal squarely in the shin. "Shut the fuck up, Tiemann. You're hardly one to shoot your fucking mouth off about being careful right now, you know."

"God damn it, Skibby...."

"Neal, seriously, stop moving, all right?" Andy squared his jaw and jerked roughly on Neal's arm, elevating it _yet again_ so that Neal's hand was above his heart. "And _leave it there,_ asshole! I'm trying to keep you from bleeding to death!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Andy, stop being so fuckin' dramatic!" Neal spat back. "It can't be that bad - I mean, I can't even feel it anymore..."

"Yeah, amazing what shock and adrenaline will do for ya," Andy replied dryly, wrapping a clean kitchen towel tightly around Neal's hand. "So, tell me, college boy - what the fuck ever possessed you to do something like this? You _know,_ Neal, that they actually make wallets with the holes pre-punched, right?"

"You _know_ I never finished my degree!" Neal snapped, giving his best friend a baleful glare.

"Still figured you were smarter than this!" Andy fired back, trying not to let Neal see how badly his hands were actually trembling. So much blood... "I don't think it's stopping," he whispered, chancing a peek under the towel at the gash on Neal's finger.

"Well, it's not gonna clot if y'keep disturbin' it like that!" Neal growled, trying to tug his hand out of Andy's grasp. "Even I know that much..."

"Neal, I'm not kidding - I really think we need to go to the hospital," Andy murmured, squeezing Neal's wrist, trying to get the other man to just _look_ at him...

Finally.

Andy's hazel eyes bored into Neal's ice-blues, adding the intensity of his gaze to the weight of his words. "I mean it, Neal. You cut yourself _bad._ I could see the fucking _bone_ , Neal..." He leaned forward, clutching Neal's wrist just a little tighter. "You're a guitar player, Neal. For a living. That's what you do. You use your fingers, on the job, for a living. If you're telling me that you honestly can't feel this right now, we have to get you to the hospital. If there's nerve damage there..." He let his voice trail off as Neal's eyes widened slightly, the full import of his predicament hitting him squarely where it hurt.

Or didn't hurt.

Either way, they definitely had a problem.

"...Okay," Neal conceded, and Andy let out a sigh of relief.

\----------

"God damn it, Andy..."

"Shut up, Neal, I don't want to hear it."

"I am not walkin' into the ER with that on my hand..."

"Neal, listen - the cold will slow the bleeding and reduce the swelling. It's the only thing I could find in the freezer, and for fuck's sake, it's cheap. So sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up, and wear your God-damned bag of frozen peas, okay?"

"...Yes, sir."

"Good."

\----------

"Wait - he did _what??_ "

Andy patiently began his explanation again. "He was using a steak knife to make a hole in his wallet for a chain..."

"I heard you the first time!"

"Then why did you ask--"

"It was a rhetorical question, Andy. Just like so much of what Neal does is fucking rhetorical. Has he never heard of leather punches?"

"Believe me, Dave, I asked him the same thing. He thought I meant riding crops, or something. God, seriously, that was the most surreal conversation I think we've ever had..."

"Forgive me if I ask you to spare me the details, all right?"

"...No problem."

"...Cool. He wasn't drinking, was he?"

"...Um..."

"God, right, stupid question. Okay. All right. We can do this..." A pause. "Andy?"

"Yeah, Dave?"

"...How bad is it? I mean, am I gonna have to kick his ass, or am I gonna have to give him a new job? I don't pay him to stand on-stage and look pretty, you know -- that's Kyle."

Andy let out his breath slowly. "I'm not really sure, Dave... I mean, there was blood everywhere, and he got down to the bone... But they're looking at him now, so hopefully we'll know shortly if it's an ass-kicking or a job reassignment... Look, I'll call you when I know more, okay?"

"Okay... Oh, and Andy?"

"...Yeah, Dave?"

"Thanks for taking care of him, man."

"...That's what friends do."

\----------

"...A splint."

Neal shrugged slightly, shifting uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair. "It was that, or stitches in my hand. But stitches need to be removed and we're gonna be back on the road, and I really can't take the day off, y'know, and fly back here to LA, just to hit the hospital for a suture removal..."

"...We couldn't just, y'know...take the sutures out ourselves?"

"Dude, I don't fuckin' know. They just said that if I couldn't come back to have the stitches pulled, they couldn't suture it. Plus, with stitches, I'd have to keep my finger immobile anyway... So, might as well go with a splint."

"..That's gonna hurt like a mother-fucker."

"Hurts like a mother-fucker now."

"That's a good sign, then," Andy murmured, and then punched Neal's good arm as hard as he could, grinning in satisfaction at the loud yelp it elicited from the older man.

"Son of a fuckin' bitch! What the fuck was that for?"

"Pain gateways, asshole. Don't you watch _House_?"

"...What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Does your hand still hurt?"

"Yes!"

"More or less than your arm right now?"

"Fuck you, Andy."

"...Oh. I guess you really can't believe everything you see on TV shows."

"...God, I hate you so fucking much right now..."

"...Love you too, Neal."

\----------

Neal sucked in a sharp breath, and Andy could feel the muscles in his forearm tense up beneath his hand.

"Seriously? Neal...this is is warm water with Epsom salts in it. That's all. It's not gonna hurt, I promise. It's gonna make your hand feel better, all right? ...There...isn't that better?"

"...Yeah." Neal sat quietly with his hand in the bowl of warm water, watching Andy set out the gauze pads and the medical tape. "...This isn't some elaborate plan to make me have to piss, is it?" he joked half-heartedly, forcing a grin he wasn't really feeling.

"Nope," Andy replied, glancing up at Neal from under his bangs, giving the other man a small smile. "The salt stuff is gonna bring down some of that swelling in your hand. Seriously, you're gonna feel better, I promise..." Looking away, he returned to his task, carefully cutting the medical tape to precise measurements, and peeling open the corner of the wrapper on the gauze, getting it ready for use.

"How we doin' there? Better?" Andy asked after a few minutes, shifting closer to look at Neal's pruning hand in the bowl.

"Yeah, think so..." Neal murmured, moving his finger slightly. "Easier t'do this..." he continued, shooting Andy a sly grin as he folded his good fingers and his thumb into his palm.

"Maybe later, Neal," Andy said softly, amusement warming his voice. "For now, let's get that bandaged up... Here, dry it off, first..."

Neal took the soft cotton towel from Andy's hand, obediently drying his hand before extending his arm to Andy for his care.

He watched silently as Andy dressed his wound and carefully taped the splint into place.

"There we go," Andy murmured, his fingers lingering on Neal's hand. "Good as new..."

"Andy..." Neal breathed, and then paused, waiting for Andy to look up.

When he did, and it was inevitable that he would, Neal shifted forward and pressed his lips softly to Andy's.

"...Thanks for takin' care of me," he whispered against Andy's mouth.

"...That's what boyfriends do," Andy replied with a faint smile.


End file.
